Tim Hortons are safe space

 

It’s been dusk for days. Cancelling moods.

Both of us back-pedaling and spacing.

 

Tim’s? Sure. Eye contact shitty. Lineless,

we abrupt small-talk, indulge disproportionately. Here?

 

Here: One-sided TMI to a jangle of anecdotal gossip

and gossipy anecdotes, then finally the meat:

 

the crash of the candy machine, the no-reply email,

the time to watch more day games, and the dead pet.

 

Strangers innocuous as variations on the jelly donut.

The absence of sugar packets focuses the heart.

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